Snow and Ice
by Herr Doktor
Summary: A plane crash, followed by rescue, followed by a twitchy annoying boy and a creepy German fellow. What else?
1. Chapter 1: And so it Begins

AN: Been a while, hasn't it? Here's a li'l thingamabobber

Snow, snow everywhere. I can't get enough air into my lungs. Every breath I take is another nail in my coffin. I can feel the ice biting into my throat; freezing my chest until there will be nothing left but an icy mass.

I can't die here. Not here, not now. I haven't seen my mother and father in three years! I can't be finished off by a damn plane crash!

I want to live. I want to see them. But willpower is not enough here. Willpower cannot restore heat to my chilled form. Willpower cannot make my failing lungs draw more air. I felt my limbs slow, and then, the blinding white was covered by darkness.

…

My father never trusted airplanes.

"I will give up my revolver before I ride an airplane."

And the only solid object in the world he loved more than his revolver was my mother.

He told me not to go to America on a plane.

"Take a ship. I don't care if it takes longer. You'll thank me when a ship floats. Planes crash. Ships float, get it, mon ami?"

I told him he was being silly, and bought a plane ticket for the job.

His favorite saying was, "I told you so."

Correction: His favorite saying IS "I told you so." He's not the one who took the plane.

…

Warmth, voices. Fingers…rough and callused. Not gentle. Yet, they are careful.

"Dis one still breathes."

"Quick, bring him here. Zhe ozhers in zhe vreck are dead."

The voices. German accent has a voice that is soft, almost hypnotic. Russian one is very thick, slow, and thoughtful.

I am lifted. Pain, shooting pain in my back.

"Who are they?"

"Zhey are just civilizans. I count about fifty bodies. A small plane, anyhow."

"Why help dis one? He is almost dead."

"I may still save him."

"Doktor, I know you are not dat kind. What are you doing dis for?"

The pain. Gone. Soothing warmth washing over me, my head is in someone's lap. The air is no longer biting into my mouth; saliva once again runs in my mouth.

"I sense…he vill be useful."

"Very well."

Something is pressed to my lips. Liquid. I drink it.

It burns! Oh God, it burns!

Hacking, coughing, and choking, I sit up, all my muscles suddenly alive and functional, albeit stiff.

My vision is blurred, and everything seems abnormally dark. An eerie blue light waves in front of my view.

"Can you talk?"

I can only respond with a cough. My throat is fuzzy and clammy.

The drink is held to my lips again, and I swallow some more. My throat seems to warm and flex in my neck.

"Who…."

"Ve are of zhe Builder's League United. I have a couple of questions, zhen you may rest."

"What…how am I…."

"Quiet now. First question. Vhere are you from? Or razher, is someone expecting you?"

"I…I was 'eading back to France…after a job in America…my mother…my father…."

"Hm. Ve vill have to search for some records later zhen. Now second, are you trained in fighting at all?"

"Ah, gun fighting, knife fighting, and martial arts," I recite numbly. My eyes refuse to focus, and all I can see are two eerie orbs-are those my rescuer's eyes?-floating in front of me amidst a dark mass.

"Very vell. Sleep now."

As if on command, my eyelids drop down and I sink deep into sleep.

…

"Hey, wake up, skinny."

I slowly opened my eyes. My mind told me I should be dead. Instead, I was feeling rather warm, and lying in a soft bed. So, shut up, mind.

Someone was sitting on my legs. A boy. I'd guess nineteen, maybe twenty years old? Did he call me skinny?

"Doc said not to bother you, but seriously, you look okay." The boy slipped off me and stretched. "So, you're not dead. How you feeling?"

"You should thank doc. He saved ya."

"Man, you should see your suit, it's all messed up."

His rapid chatter is giving me a headache, so I tune him out and take in my surroundings.

I'm definitely in some sort of clinic or ward. Four beds stretch out to my left. On my right, a shuttered window allows pale white light to filter in. The room itself is large, and smells faintly of something sweet. It is barren except for the beds, a desk across the corner, and several metal closets. It's rather dim, with only a couple of the ceiling lights on, and the temperature is surprisingly warm.

The walls are clear, but the wall behind me is plastered with posters. Some are diagrams of various body parts, detailing a little too much. Others are surprisingly beautiful photos of snowy forests and mountains. One shows a polar bear with its cubs.

"Yeah, Doc's a weirdo."

"Who's a veirdo?"

AN: Thar ya go. More to follow.


	2. Chapter 2: Flying Machine

"Please step avay from him, scout." I recognize the voice. My rescuer strides in through double doors. I can't tell how old he is. He could be anywhere from twenty to forty. His face is relatively unlined, and narrow. Messy black hair is splayed over round-lense glasses. His eyes are shadowed and he seems shrunken, diminutive. He's definitely shorter than me. There's something about the icy blue eyes that make me look away when our eyes meet.

"Why? He looks fine."

The man's lab coat billows around his leg as he walks, and he snaps on thick surgical gloves. "He has been buried in ice for six hours. He is not fine. Please move, go eat somezhing."

The boy slouches and snakes off, dragging his feet. What is with him?

Hands, gentle but firm, push me onto my back. "Zhis vill just take a second."

He peels open the button up shirt he put me in, and examines my chest. I look down, and wince. My chest is blood red, and strange, bloody lines, like claw marks, and stretched across my belly. "Wot the 'ell made this 'appen?"

"Zhe medigun did not heal everzhing…" the man murmured. "Zhe flesh here was frozen, so zhe medigun could not stimulate growth." He poked my ribs a bit, muttering something about hairline fractures, and explored my chest with clinical interest, which was unnerving.

Now, though, I had questions.

"Where am I?"

"Good question. You are in a small, two story grey building on an icy, frozen mountain vhere it snows half the year." He took out a stethoscope, and checked my heartbeat. "I am honestly impressed. You should be dead. I found a stopped vatch on vone of zhe passengers, and it seems to have stopped at seven zhirty. Ve investigated at six zhat evening."

"What was that…light?"

"You may be unfamiliar vizh Australian technology. It is very expensive, after all. Zhat vas zhe medigun. I'll show you all of it later, provided our employers agree to my idea."

"Your employers?"

"Ve vork for Blutarch Mann, and blizhering old idiot who pays us to shoot at his brozher's soldiers."

"A warlord of some kind? A military leader?" I ask, curious.

"No, his twin brozher. He doesn't like his twin brozher."

I hesitate, then ask, to be clear, "You're killing each other because he doesn't like his brother?"

"Idiots, bozh of zhem."

The man, I suppose a medic, had me button up my shirt. With practiced ease, he grabbed my hand and hauled me off the bed onto my feet. To my surprise, my legs held.

"I think I'll grow to like Australia."

"No."

I blinked. "What?"

He shrugged. "Vould you love a country zhat chooses its leader vizh kangaroo boxing? Or zhat spends zhe vorld's most precious metal on mustache science?"

"You must be joking."

"Obviously you have never been to Australia. Zhe last time I vent, zhey tried to give me a handlebar mustache. I had to offer zhem beer to make zhem leave. Naturally, zhey did not know zhe difference between beer and a heavy sedative."

He sighed. "So, let us feed you somezhing, and zhen zhe long, boring questions can begin."

Only at his mention of food do I realize my intense hunger. A deep rumble brings a flush to my face.

The medic raises an eyebrow. "Follow me. Don't touch anyzhing. If a strange, drunk person offers you whisky, do not drink it. It is actually…ah…somezhing less pleasant."

"What is it?"

"Don't drink it."

It's my turn to raise an eyebrow, but I nod and follow silently as he strides out of the ward.

The hallways are dim, lit with lights scattered across the ceiling. Our footsteps echo painfully loud. Several closed doorways with funny looking symbols litter the hallway walls. There's a cannonball, a rocket, a foot, and a flame. "What are these?"

"Our private rooms. Go in at the wrong time and the occupant vill probably put a bullet zhrough your head."

Comforting.

"Who was the boy from earlier?"

"Ah, zhat is scout."

"His name is 'Scout'?"

"No, but ve refer to each ozher by our titles. Privacy policy," he replied.

"That's kind of strange," I said carefully, not wanting to offend him.

"Most of us are here because of unfortunate circumstances. We all have zhe proverbial skeletons in zhe closet. Sometimes names are too intimate," he said quietly.

This place just became a lot creepier.

The kitchen was a small, square room that was barely larger than a bathroom. A stove and fridge was squeezed against the wall, and a cupboard was built into the far wall. A small, square wooden table sat in the middle, with four chairs crammed around it.

"Have a seat," medic said, waving a hand at the table. He grabbed a carton of eggs and glanced at me. "Food preferences?"

"I'm fine with anything," I replied, looking around at the tiny room. "How many of you are there?"

"Zhere are nine. At least, zhere vere. Ve are eight now." He cracked an egg open onto a pan. The crackling noise filled the room.

"So, this is like…a mercenary team?"

"Ja. The roles are scout, soldier, pyro, demo, heavy, engineer, medic, sniper, and spy." He grabbed a couple slabs of bacon and tossed them onto another pan. The smell did nothing to make me less hungry. It's just a smell. If only we could eat smells, right? "Alzhough ve shoot at each ozher all day, people rarely die because of me, or razher, my role. Zhe medic is equipped vith advanced Australian medical technology. Zhe non kangaroo kind."

"So…if there's eight of you that means-"

"Our spy died two days ago, and ve have had to fight vizhout him since." More bacon. More smells. If he doesn't feed me soon I'll shove those funny looking glasses down his….

"Sadly," he continued, drawing the pans off the stove and plopping them on the table. "Our employers have not replaced him. I vill not lie. Our last spy vas a very unpleasant person. However, he vas key to dealing vizh zhe opponent's automated veaponry." He glanced at the now empty pans. "You eat fast."

"I feel like a haven't eaten in days," I mumbled through a mouth stuffed with bacon.

"You are exaggerating. It's only been a day and a half or so." He sat down, and placed his clasped palms on the table. "Ve are all here for a specified time in our individual contracts. I am here for eight months, and have served zhree. Scout, as an example, has a six monzh service and has been here zhree and a half." He drew out a small scalpel and began polishing it with his sleeve. I couldn't help but notice the blade was soaked in crimson blood. "My idea, is zhat you can help us fill zhat roll. Zhey pay vell."

"You-you can't just make me work here!"

"I vould not blame you. Many of zhe people here are insane, or various forms of crazy."

Speak for yourself.

"I am merely suggesting it. Our higher ups seem to be caught in some kind of turmoil. I have already suggested it. Zhey should answer soon." He put away that knife, now clean, and took out another one, also dripping with blood. His right sleeve was now dark brown and pink at the rim. "I know zhis is sudden, but every day ve are vizhout a team mate ve are all at higher risk of dying. Trust me, nobody vants to die out here, fighting for two bratty old men."

"Wait. How did you know I was out there?"

"You are razher lucky. Ve just moved to zhis site. Zhere are many battle sites, decided on by zhe idiot brozhers or ozher similarly idiotic people. The snow site is my favorite, zhough zhe ozhers keep telling me I'm mad to like zhis place. Regardless, ve vere fighting vhen ve saw the plane fly past. Imagine my surprise vhen it suddenly veers right down and disappears over a nearby ledge. Frankly, I vas hoping to get zhere earlier, perhaps use a few corpses before zhe ice rendered zhem vorzhless."

"'Use' corpses?" What is wrong with this man?

"Zhis may sound crude, but I can in fact preserve limbs for transplant. Perhaps a little bit illegal, but ve vork for a company zhat does a lot of illegal zhings. Never had zhe chance to do it zhough." He sighed. "I reattached soldier's arm vhen it vas sliced off. However, if I cannot save zhe limb I vill need replacement."

I was beginning to feel rather…perturbed.

"But enough. Ve investigated vhen ve could. Heavy helped carry you. You vill meet him later. He is surprisingly kind, so don't let his appearance scare you. Also, no Russian jokes. I am quite serious." He poured himself a glass of ice water-ice water?!

"Uh, are you cold?" The food had warmed me, but the kitchen was probably just fifty or sixty degrees.

"I vork best in zhe cold-don't give me zhat look. Some people prefer cold. Get over it."

"Right. So, uh, what else goes on here?"

"Not much. Ve have some unique veapons here. You vill be razher disappointed vizh yours, but ve'll see. Your room is the farthest back, but at zhe very least it has its own shover, which you will probably appreciate."

"Hold on-I haven't agreed to work here yet."

He gave me a funny smile. It wasn't exactly cold or unkind, just strange. I stared at his bizarre eyes, which now that I looked closely, seemed to be different colors. "Zhere is no vay off zhis mountain for two veeks."

I was snapped out of my reverie. "Two weeks? I can't stay 'ere that long!"

He shook his head. "I do not vant to force you, and I can allow you to simply stay here, but I zhink-" He stopped, and glanced past me. "You vill find your own vay."

"You sound like a character from those old mythical novels my father used to read," I said flatly. A rumble interrupted me. Seems I'm still hungry. "I really can't just fight for your company though."

"We'll see."

"Ah, tiny man is awake." I suddenly felt a massive presence behind me that made all my neck hairs stand on end. I slowly turned, and had to hold back a scream. A towering giant of a man stood behind me, broad shouldered and broad-chested. Thick, muscled arms that could probably snap my neck in an instant-shut up, brain-and surprisingly, somewhat short legs, at least for his stature. His shaved head did nothing to make his chiseled face and heavy jaw less intimidating. He looked like a shark that had eaten all his vegetables and drunk all his milk as a child. "Doktor says you stay. So! Can you be spy?" His broken English made him more frightening, if anything.

"I-I'm not supposed to work here," I stammered, trying not to squirm. Look at me, a twenty six year old Frenchman, on the verge of wetting myself.

"Hm. Okay. Doktor will find job for you. Did you eat? You are small." He moved past, and I could feel the vibrations his weight caused through my seat. I'm fairly certain I could drive a truck into him, and he'd live. He seemed genuinely concerned, though, and I was touched, in spite of myself. Outside, the wind picked up, and the howl of the wing made me shiver and think of the ice.

The plane had taken off normally. The pilot had introduced himself as Miron.

"_I hope you all have a pleasant flight."_

I didn't mind flying. The seat next to me was empty as well, so no bothersome neighbors. Someone threw up, but they were quickly ushered off to the bathroom. I read a magazine about dogs and ate dry peanuts. It was so peaceful.

About an hour in, I'd gone to the bathroom to wash my face and wash the tiredness out of my eyes. As I stepped out, I bumped into a beautiful young lady. She was incredibly pretty, dark brown hair flowing over her narrow shoulders, eyes bright and piercing. I smiled at her, trying to think of a pickup line, before I noticed the wedding ring. The smile became strained, and I returned to my seat, sighing wistfully.

Before my butt could even touch the seat, a very nervous Miron explained that they were experiencing severe turbulence. Turbulence was no big deal. A pilot whose voice is shaking is a big deal. The plane was rumbling a bit, but what could be the big deal?

"_I will be very clear. If you'll recall, we are flying over a high elevation mountain range. We are also experiencing minor engine trouble. I am confident, however, that-that we can reach the other side and make an emergency landing if needed."_

Of course. He couldn't make an emergency landing over some icy mountains.

Many people murmured uncomfortably amongst themselves. A little boy started to cry. A couple of old, balding men in business suits muttered something about inferior service and 'late for meetings'.

I wasn't overly worried. I was confident in humanity's flying machines.

Fifteen minutes elapsed before the pilot came on over the speakers again.

"_We have stabilized. I apologize for any concern I may have caused."_

The murmurs stopped. The boy stopped crying. The balding old men complained about the quality of the airplane's wine. Somewhere, a low pitched voice recited chemical formulas aloud.

I settled back in my seat and read about how to clean a retriever's paws. I like dogs. They're not judgmental, like humans. If you failed your chemistry exams in school they don't yell at you. If your girlfriend broke up with you because you gave a female friend a hug they don't mock you. (Seriously? Sarah was just a classmate! Whatever. I didn't like Marionette that much. Hag.)

I heard the first engine's explosion with not just my ears, but my whole head. The vibration shook my brain in my skull. I swore a few of my teeth loosened. Almost afraid to look, I drew up the window shade and saw that the left wing was now a blaze of orange and yellow. People screamed. Static came on over the intercom. The plane listed to the right, then to the left. Luggage fell from overhead racks. The flames were actually sputtering out, intense heat fighting intense cold. However, the flames were backed up by jet fuel. The billowing inferno grew larger, and I slammed the window shut as the flame rushed at the window. My heart threatened to burst out of my chest.

Panic rose in my chest.

_I'm going to die._

There were more screams. The boy cried again. The balding old men shouted something about parachutes and taxes.

The second engine actually screamed before it went. A high pitched screech seemed to emanate from the right, and then a second explosion indicated the loss of the left engine's brother.

_I'm going to die._

My chest constricted. My lungs seemed to shrink. I knew that the oxygen levels in the cabin were dropping, but I could feel every fear rising to the surface, all exposed in the horrible glory of the flame.

_I don't want to die!_

Insanity became my watchword. I stood, but by then, gravity's inexorable work had brought humanity's 800,000 pound flying machine to the ground. Everything exploded around me.

AN: Losing streak on starcraft, so, writing stories.


	3. Chapter 3: Well

AN: Currently working on formatting.

"Zhat vas…unfortunate."

I shrugged. What was there to say? It was hard to think about it, to be honest. Whenever I did, I could feel my heart rate rise. The sensation of falling. The feeling of knowing you are doomed.

"Can I contact my family?"

Medic shrugged. "You can try. I will be honest. You have more chance of vinning zhe American lottery zhen getting a signal or even a connection vizh zhe landline."

"How do you get orders?"

Medic sipped some dark brown substance that smelled way too sweet to be coffee. "Normally via computer. However, here on zhe mountain, ve are simply sent radio broadcasts vizh instructions."

I nod, and brood for a moment. I'm trapped here with these strange mercenaries for now. Now that I've had a near brush with death, though, I don't plan to get myself killed fighting with these people on a frozen rock.

"Right. Listen," I said hesitantly. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but I really don't want to join your mercenary group."

Medic tilted his mug back and started to chug. Heavy was eating a steak. Who eats steak for breakfast? And where did they find a circular steak easily 20 inches in diameter?

"Doktor does dis for your own good," he growled. "The company we work for may just as easily have you killed. If you fill in tiny spy's role, they may be nice." A portion of the steak disappeared into his cavernous maw.

"You work for this Builder's League United. Hold on-that's a legitimate business? What's this mercenary stuff?" I asked. B.L.U. was a company that sold fuel for ships and vehicles.

"As I said," medic said. You wiped a brown mustache from his mouth. "Zhey are run by two stupid old men. However, zhe bigger danger is Mann Co, who practically runs zhe companies." His eyelids flickered, and he slumped over for a moment, then shot back upright, blinking rapidly. "A-Anyvay, I am very serious. Mann Co vill not hesitate to cut off dead veight."

"They can't just have me killed, can they?"

"You underestimate zhem," medic said tiredly. He stretched, and looked right at me with this creepy eyes. "Zhey are directly linked to every major government in zhe vorld, and have ties to zhe vast majority of every major company in America and Australia. If zhey vant you dead, you vill die."

I was becoming more worried by the moment. "What the hell did I ever do to them?"

"Nozhing. But zhey are a company, or a government in a vay. Like any company or government, ve are all just headcount. Zhey can hit zhe minus vone button anytime zhey vish." Medic stood up. "I promised to check on Scout's knee, vhich he von't shut up about. Heavy van answer any ozher questions you have."

Heavy gave me a look that made it very clear any question he didn't know could be answered with his fists.

Medic strode out silently, coat flowing out behind him.

Giant bear man ate another steak. Where'd he get that?

"Doktor seems to be interested in you."

I turned uneasily to him. "You say 'interested'. Friendly interested? Or perhaps 'I will use you for spare parts' interested?"

"Doktor is not, well," Heavy paused thoughtfully. "Doktor is distant man. He does not talk much. But he seems eager to help you."

Eager? So far he'd treated me like an irritation, or maybe a mildly interesting specimen. "No way."

Heavy shook his massive head. "He does not talk to you unless he is interested in something about you. Maybe Doktor know you from somewhere."

"I've never seen that man in my life."

"Does not matter. Doktor usually talk only to me or Scout. You must be special somehow."

"Next," I sighed. "You will tell me I must save the world with a paperclip and a taco."

Heavy laughed, a booming, roaring sound that filled the kitchen like a cloud of fluffy sound. "You are funny small man! But be careful. Doktor is always polite, no matter what you do, but you do anything to him…" Heavy's expression darkened immediately, and his eyes zeroed in on me. I felt a lump in my throat. I don't remember putting a rock in my throat.

"Right. I won't hurt a soul," I said with what I hoped was a winning smile.

Heavy sat back, apparently satisfied. His eyes darted up and down my torso. "You look like skeleton."

I took a moment to properly look at my hands, and almost shrieked. When had I gotten so thin?!

I've never been heavyset, but my fingers were now skeletal, clearly showing bone and my skin clung to it like wet laundry on a pole.

Heavy chuckled. "You did not notice. Are funny man. You will be fine, though. Doktor is very good at job, even if he is strange to you."

More than a little strange. "What's his relationship with you and scout? I mean, if he doesn't normally talk to anyone else, what's special with you two?" A few strange thoughts come to mind, but I quickly suppress them.

"Doktor and I work well together on battle. We are good team. He also likes to have someone to talk to. Doktor was homeless before hired, you know?"

"Homeless? Why would they hire a homeless-"

"His story, you ask him," Heavy said firmly. "Scout is special, I think. I do not really know, but Scout always hang around medic. Eventually Doktor talk to him." He shrugged. "When Medic first come, Scout scared of him, because last medic was crazy."

So, no difference. "I see. So, when do you change fields?"

"Whenever rich people feel like." Heavy grabbed a massive mug, a bucket, really, and began chugging the foamy liquid in it.

"That might be a little too much beer for early morning," I commented.

Heavy looked at me out of one corner of his eye. "Is not beer. Is root beer."

"Root beer?"

"You are small, not deaf. Yes, root beer."

I realized how much time I'd wasted with a jolt, chatting about root beer and planes. I had to get home! Mother and father-the best parents I could ever ask for. They'd have heard about the crash by now. They must think I'm dead!

"Don't you have _any_ phones?" I asked, exasperated.

"Not until we leave mountain."

"Nothing at all?"

Heavy stared at me. "If I say the number one ten times, does it become another number?"

"Okay, okay," I said in irritation.

"Now, if no more questions, you have chores."

"Chores?"

"Job, chores, whatever," Heavy growled. He shoved the dishes in the sink and began washing them. I kept waiting for the metal plates to shatter in his massive hands. "First, Medic wants to give you some medicine, because you shrink when medigun heal you."

"The medigun _shrinks _you?" I said. "Then how-"

"Your heart had stopped. Medic used medigun to restart heartbeat, restore dying cells. Actually, before we come, flash freeze. Temperature drop twenty degrees over fifteen seconds."

Hearing this coming out of the giant teddy bear's mouth was strange.

"You are lucky. Body preserved by cold." Heavy gently scrubbed his mug. "Enough cells survive to live. However, ninety percent of fat drained for stored calories to replace dead cells. Not enough. Doktor say your muscles drained as well. So-you like skinny, or you like dead?"

"I'll be thin, thank you very much," I said hastily. I looked down at my skeletal hands. Still, though. It would take forever to regain my lost mass.

"Doctor says you must eat, then he give you medicine." Heavy carefully dried the sink and strode over to me, hauling me to my feet. "Then, you help the others if they need things. That is all."

"Hey-frozen plane crash victim here," I snapped, a lot louder than I should have. I immediately took a step back, braced for one of those huge hands to put a hole in my rib cage.

Heavy gave me a critical look. "Do not seem so weak in front of others." With that, he strode off, leaving me with nothing but a sense of embarrassment.

I decided at last there was no point fighting it. I could only hope someone would get me off this damned mountain eventually.

I walked out of the kitchen, and slammed right into Scout.

"Watch where you're going, skinny."

"Oh. Hello, Scout," I said. I was feeling a lot less than dignified in these tissue paper clothes. I needed my suit. "Do you happen to know where my clothes are?"

"Oh yeah. They're more like shredded socks now. We threw them away."

I froze. Then, slowly, I made my mouth move.

"That suit cost me over a thousand American dollars."

Scout snorted, and pushed past me into the kitchen. "There are like-fifty fancy suits in spy's room. Go get one."

"What are you babbling about?" I growled.

"The last spy. Freaking asshole. I mean, I should feel bad he's dead, but he was messed up. Seriously. His room is the farthest back. He had like ten thousand suits. And they're made of mann co crap, so they're pretty much bulletproof." He vanished into the depths of the miniscule kitchen, and myself? Tired, exasperated, and willing to punch someone in the face, I made my way to the back of the base.

The spy's room was simple. A small, square room with a bed in the corner, neatly made. A bedside table had a vase of white roses, along with a watch, revolver, and balisong knife.

A closet on the left wall sat next to the door to a small bathroom with a shower. I could tell this place was temporary, not the usual living arrangement. Everything looked like a hotel room. A small, square window was shuttered. I peeked out, and looked out into a vast expanse of snow, complete with a cliff edge some fifty meters out. Lovely.

I was searching the closet (which, by the way, was full of identical suits) when my foot nudged a small rectangular book.

_Journal_


	4. Chapter 4: History Lesson

_ I would not bother writing this under normal circumstances, but I need to practice my English, and I have heard writing is therapeutic. The last person to tell me that is dead, but perhaps he knew something I did not._

_ I do not think I will track the date. Everything here is just pointing and shooting anyway. Dates do not matter._

_ Maybe as I write the series of events unfolding with this company may finally make sense. I feel, though, that they will not._

_ The last medic died a month after I arrived. I did not like him, anyway. It's getting late, but I want to make every damned page meaningful._

_ The new medic arrived some time back, perhaps a month as well? A lot of the stranger things have begun happening after his arrival. I cannot blame him, however. I would not dare. I fear nobody on this world but him and his partner, the heavy. I might have taken the heavy for an idiot, but no. He is smarter than he lets on. He arrived a week before the medic, but they became close right away. That annoying boy…the scout. Scout has been hanging around the doctor as well, being a nuisance as per usual._

_ The night medic arrived, nothing unusual happened. At midnight, however, I woke to strange lights in the hallway and voices, whispering voices._

_ I am losing my mind, I thought. However, my teammates said much the same the next morning._

_ The lights and voices happened every night for a few days, then abruptly stopped. I have not seen them since. _

_ It is nearly one. I'd best sleep._

_Entry 2:_

_ The voices are back. I could not sleep at all. I heard crying somewhere in the building. I think it was Scout-but how was it so loud?_

_ I heard recognizable words this time. "Find…lost…save…help…end…finish…rest…"_

_ I don't know what it means. I grabbed my revolver and stormed into the hallway, but there was nothing to be seen. I cloaked, which has always made me feel better, and crept to the medic's room. Medic was slumped over at his desk, snoring gently. I wanted to blame him for these damned voices, but there was no reason to. I switched off his desk light and drew a blanket over him. He is strange, but very polite._

_ The voices continued to bother me, growing louder as I neared my room. It was like a scene out of a horror movie._

_ I cannot stand them. At least they faded in the morning._

_Entry 3:_

_ A week without voices. I am feeling better. However, the medic has been just the opposite. He grows thin and bony. His cheeks are sunken and his eyes dark. I almost shot him when I saw him this morning. He actually scared me._

_ Heavy is very worried, and constantly hovers around the doctor, trying to stuff sandwiches in medic's mouth. The man speaks little, as is standard, but has the air of a dying man._

_ I worked as an assassin for a wealthy businessman for three years. I know the look of a man who knows he is dying._

_ Only, with this man, it is the look of someone still holding on for some small purpose._

_ Scout goes to the infirmary every second he is not in battle._

_ I went to see Medic in the infirmary today, because I was getting a fever._

_ I walked in on him playing the violin. The music was heartrending. The tune rolled deep and dark. Haunted images played through my mind, spirits I did not know existed flashed before my eyes. I felt the urge to cry, scream, and kill something._

_ Medic stopped, and gave me some funny looking squares._

_ "Chocolate?"_

_ "Medicine."_

_ I do not understand that man. Anything I don't understand, I usually shoot. Now, I am not allowed to do that._

_Entry 4:_

_ Scout, who started out avoiding the doctor like the plague, has become the medic's best friend somehow. It's rather one-sided, and reminds me of a puppy trailing after its owner._

_ He constantly goes to the infirmary to talk to Medic. I hope he sees something out of the ordinary, so I can interrogate him later._

_Entry 5:_

_ I sometimes wonder if I should have stopped all this hired blade nonsense and married. Perhaps years of being an assassin has made me cold, but I once loved. Mary…I have never forgotten you._

_ If only life had not been so cruel._

_ Her killer was not an assassin, not a large government. It wasn't a mass murderer, or a madman. It was a drunken teenager that ran a truck into her at ninety kilometers an hour._

_ Nine months of jail?_

_ NINE MONTHS?_

_ Mary is DEAD!_

_ Kill the damned brat! But no-Mary was a gentle soul. She would not have approved of my anger._

_ I grew reminiscent when I heard Engineer talk about his family. He had a life, a love._

_ Where did that leave me?_

_ I am getting soft. I actually feel unhappy when Scout avoids me in the hallway. Scary, am I? I suppose I am antisocial. But an assassin that chatters all the time is not much of an assassin at all._

_ Today the medic threw up in the hallway. I didn't know until I walked past the blood stain._


	5. Chapter 5: Trust in Sanity

AN: Today's lesson. Always save. Word crashed, lost quite a bit of work. Alas, we press on. Thanks for the reviews.

I don't believe in the supernatural. All I can do is hope the last spy was on something he shouldn't have been.

I return to the infirmary, because I'm started to get annoyed when I see my skeletal hands.

In the infirmary, Medic is sitting at his desk, writing in a massive binder. The window is open, blowing in flecks of snow and cold air. Outside, the world is pearly white, covered in snow. The sun is up, and it's hard to look without squinting. It's so bright…

"Here to get your flesh back?"

I start, and turn to the doctor. Scout is sitting on his desk, munching on a huge square piece of chocolate, easily a foot by a foot. He glares at me, like I'm intruding on his space. Brat.

"Yeah. Heavy said you had something for me."

Medic stood, and took a box out of a drawer. He opened it, and drew out several syringes. "I prepared zhese last night. Zhere are fifteen shots."

"That's…quite a bit for one arm."

He laughed. "One arm? No. Zhey go in various parts of your body."

"By various parts you mean my arms, right?" Of course not, but it didn't hurt to ask.

Medic took out a bottle of pills and went into his room. He came out with the medigun.

"Oh, zhis von't hurt. A lot. If you have no nervous system."

…

Ow.

I am so sore.

So, so bloody sore.

I am going to kill that man.

When I can stand, that is.

My entire body hurts, as though my innards are too large for my skin to hold. In a way, they are.

I've never seen muscles grow in fast forward. It was fascinating. Except the part where it hurt.

My body looks like it did before the accident now, which is incredible. I feel energetic; yet, I'm in too much pain to move.

I just stare up at the ceiling while someone munches on chocolate in the corner.

_Krnch_

_ Krnch_

_ Krnch_

"Please stop," I groan.

"Stop what?"

"Stop _that!_"

"Seriously, you're losing it."

"Stop EATING!"

"Screw you."

Well, damn.

"Scout?" I asked. "How did the last spy die?"

"He went off the cliff."

I honestly think he was insane. Most of the journal's bizarre entries are already fading from my mind.

Medic comes back from the spy's room. He has strange look on his face, and says nothing as he re enters, eyes brooding and distant.

Scout lights up like a candle. I'm not sure what he thinks of the medic as, but he's always happy to see him. Nobody should be happy to see a man that cleans bloody scalpels with his sleeves.

"What did ya find, doc?"

"Ah, nozhing. I got a suit for you," he says to me. He hands me a fat plastic bag with a suit folded neatly in it.

"Thank you," I said slowly, easing myself into sitting position. "I'll put it on when my body stops burning."

"I have morphine."

"I'm feeling great, thanks," I said hastily.

"Just rest for a couple of days, and zhen ve can finalize vhat to do vizh you."

That wasn't exactly comforting.

I decided to go back and read the diary. I liked to read horror stories as a child. I'd sit in bed, turn on the lamp, and let the words speak of haunted woods, abandoned lands, ghostly specters.

Where's the diary?

The room looked very much as it had before. It had taken twenty or thirty minutes before my muscles felt up to moving. However, the journal was gone.

I searched under the bed, in the bathroom, on the closet-everywhere!

Disappointing, but strange.

Wait-the last person in this room was Medic.

I return and ask medic if he'd seen the journal.

"A journal?" His eyebrows shoot up. "Vhy vould you be interested in a journal?"

"Do you _have_ it?"

"Ja. I zhink you had best forget about it-it vas property of zhe last spy." His eyes are narrowed, glaring at me-daring me to argue. Against my common sense. I do.

"It's about you, isn't it? What's wrong with me reading it?" I think comfortingly of the revolver I shoved in my coat pocket. Did I mention this suit is really baggy?

"It is not important!" he hissed.

"Hey, go away, skinny. Leave 'im alone!" Scout growled, coming up behind me.

"What's so wrong with it that I can't read it?" I ask.

"Can I shoot him, doc?"

"No," Medic murmured. He turned and took the diary out of his desk. He turned back to me and handed me the little book. "Read it zhen. But just know zhat nobody made zhe man go off zhe cliff." He turned and sat down again. Scout stalked past me, giving me a death glare, and then sat down on Medic's armrest.

Well, that's a few more people that don't like me. I may as well return to the room and rest.

Strange. He labeled the entries numerically, but he made a big skip to entry twelve.

_Entry 12_

_ I had a relaxing day. I actually managed to kill the enemy pyro, because for once Scout was useful and managed to separate the red medic from the rest of the team. I personally believe every pyro I kill is benefiting society. Mumbling monsters._

_ Entry 13_

_ I had that same nightmare. The past few days, every time I put my head on my pillow, the nightmares rush at me out of the darkness._

_ Like a page from a terrifying novel, when my eyes shut, the faces of all my past targets, of skeletons and dark skulls rising and dancing around me. I can feel them all closing in, driving me to insanity. I prided myself on my fortitude, but when I'm afraid to even sleep, is that still true?_


	6. Chapter 6: Monsters and Texans

_Entry 16_

_ The medic was understanding. He gave me some pills. He told me one before I slept-and to never take too many. I will try them now. Tired. Must sleep._

I hope this story has a happy ending.

_Entry 17_

_ The pills worked. I checked on medic this morning. He was hunched over the trash can, retching and gagging. I was about to say something when this runny black fluid burst out of his mouth, followed by a gush of red. I left before he noticed me. I wanted to help, but I'd been too unsettled lately to stand this. I don't understand why any of this is happening. I believe I must ask for leave. Perhaps a change of environment will do me good. I wonder what kind of sickness the medic has?_

_ Entry 18_

_ The screaming started at midnight. It's early morning now, but I can't even make sense of what happened last night. I know now I'm not insane. The other team members, as stupid as they may be, saw it and heard it all as well._

_ I have heard the banshee's wail. I have heard a voice that rises from the depths of any hell, afterlife, or underworld one may believe in. It wasn't medic, though._

_ Whatever that thing was, I don't know how it got it. It was too large to have fit through a window, too bulky to have fit through a vent._

_ I think I've been wrong about medic. Maybe the nightmares, screams, vomiting, and that thing were all unrelated. It's still one hell of a coincidence._

_ It took the entire team to bring it down._

_ I wish I could write what it looked like, but you had to be there. I am very serious._

_ I never want to see it again._

_ Medic said he would incinerate the corpse. He'd better do it quick. The thing almost killed Medic. Broke Soldier's leg. Put a hole in Demoman's arm, and a big bruise on my back. Not to mention the cuts, scrapes, and slashes we all got._

_ I remember being the third to arrive. Medic and demo were first. To demo's credit, he was not afraid. He charged the thing was his damn sword!_

_ Medic was holding his bonesaw at arm's length, as if he was afraid to use it. Eventually, he came to his senses as the rest of the team arrived._

_ He went off to get his medigun, and that thing…we put a lot of bullets into it. The room was so dark, but moonlight was more than enough to see it. It was humanoid-lithe, with incredibly long, spindly limbs that had wicked sharp claws._

_ I can't._

_ Pyro went to assist medic with the incinerator. That thing, though._

_ It actually smashed in medic's chest. Soldier's leg just fragmented into far too many pieces._

_ I can't even think straight._

_ Entry 19:_

_ It's still alive._

I put away the book and glanced out the window. The sun was already headed towards the horizon.

"Been that long already?" I murmured aloud. I looked down at the little book. I hadn't just crashed into a mercenary camp; I'd landed in a madhouse!

"You the new guy doc was talkin' 'bout?" a soft voice drawled from the doorway. I turned, and stared at the diminutive man leaning against the doorframe.

"Um, I suppose I am," I said warily, eyeing him. He didn't seem dangerous, in his overalls and little hardhat. I have a feeling, however, that you have to be dangerous to be on this team. He probably has a bottle of mad cow disease up his sleeve.

He smiled. I don't like it when mercenaries smile. "You seem alright. Probably didn't like doc much, though, did ya?"

"He is…unnerving."

He chuckled, and strolled in, sitting down on the bed. "He's not that bad a guy. He's just a bit different. But I like different people." He looked at me, me in with eyes hidden behind dark goggles. "Doc says he found ya in a plane crash. That true? I mean, we saw the plane and all, but you oughta be dead."

"I'm sitting here, am I not? I barely survived. I still do not know how I survived," I admitted. This man was easy to talk to. He had a small, simple present, and the air of a down to earth man.

"Doc does his job well. So-nough about him. Who're you?"

I briefly explained my plane ride, including the balding old men and crying children.

"What in sam hill were you doin' in America?"

"I was studying there, trying to put aside my set path from France." France was nice, but my father had expected me to become either an assassin or a politician. Both are surprisingly vicious jobs.

My mother was a gunmaker. That might sound a bit odd, especially since most guns are made in factories these days. However, to pick up a little extra cash, she made fancy, ornate revolvers that people with too much money bought for huge sums.

"Remember, dear. There's a fool with too much money born every minute," she told me before. She also made very good pies, on an unrelated note. Although, my father liked to insist he was just as good as cooking. He is fine, but most of his…results are scarred with burns.

The man nodded slowly. "Call me 'Engineer' or maybe 'engie'. Guess you can figure what I do. I build and fix stuff. Tune up the guns when they're mussed up. Went to college in Texas. Not much else to say. Mah wife said the money would be good for our kids."

"You have children?"

"Son and daughter, five and four." His face became moody for a moment. "I miss 'em. Only a couple more months in my contract though, and doc's good at making sure you make it out alive."

"I only worry he will use me for spare parts."

"Him? Nah. He seems a li'l crazy, but I tell ya-he's got his head screwed on right. Probably screwed on too tight-I think there's something off about him, but he does his job and he does it well. Now the others-not so much."

"Could I meet the other team members soon?" I asked against my common sense.

He grinned. "You sure you want to?"

"To be honest, no."

"Alright, I'll take you to meet 'em now!"


	7. Chapter 7: Cancer Stick

"First thing you oughta know-be polite. Sometimes, don't say anything. Especially around eagle boy."

"Eagle boy?"

"Soldier. You'll know him when you see him. He's probably the dumbest of the dumb." Engineer led me through the winding halls, chattering about the various antics of the team members.

"This one time, sniper was tryin' to do a fancy trick-blow off someone's head without scopin' in. He fell right outta his perch spinnin' round and round. Broke his right leg."

The dark hallways echoed with our footsteps. My mind flickered back to the journal's entries. Haunted words from a haunted man.

_It's still alive._

Should I ask? Would I seem stupid? I can't help but be curious. Also, there was surprisingly little about medic in there.

"This here's sniper's room."

I came back to the real world and stared at the dull door. Peeling blue paint on thick wood. The scent of pine seemed to emanate from the room.

"Probably best to remember this ain't our usual site. So the rooms are pretty bare."

"Should we go in?"

"Do you fancy a bullet in your bloody brains?" A grumpy voice replied from the other side of the door. The door swung inwards, revealing a caveman.

Well, not a caveman. Just a scowling fellow that hasn't shaved yet. Actually, I don't think he's shaved in a week.

Narrowed eyes dart over me, and then to engineer. "Whose this fancy wuss?"

"Survivor from the plane we saw go down yesterday. Play nice, shanks."

"Oi am a nice person."

"And I'm a cow's butt."

"You are. Anyhow-case you haven't guessed, I'm the sniper. Oi shoot people. Simple enough?" He scratched his stubble. Stubble-more like tangle. "So, you're from that plane, eh? Figured you'd be dead. The plane went roight over the edge."

"Lucky me then," I said mildly.

"Yeah, I suppose. Anyway, let me wash up, then oi just want to ask a couple of questions."

"Like what?" I inquired.

"Never been on a plane. Tell me about it later. Now go away!" He abruptly slammed the door, leaving me standing there, irritated.

"Is he always like this?" I asked, glaring at the door.

"Pretty much. Again, not a bad guy, really."

"I'm sure." I realized I'd been without a cigarette for a while. A couple days, maybe? I'm not as bad as some-losing it without a smoke every other hour. I do okay for a day or so. I don't remember when it started-neither of my parents smoke. Oh well. "You wouldn't happen to have a cigarette, would you?"

Engineer gave me a shrug. "None of us smoke, 'cept for the last spy. Check his room. Watch the cancer sticks, though. That stuff kills."

I'd heard it all before. "Yeah, yeah. I'll check his room later."

"Y'know what? Go get your smoke. The rest are probably asleep anyway. Sniper gets up just to stare at the sunrise. I keep tellin' him he's gonna burn out his eyes."

I left him, reflecting on how pleasant and sane he seemed. A refresher, really. I headed back and searched the closet. Nothing doing. I rummaged through the drawers and searched the bathroom. None. What the hell?

Perhaps the medic has some.

I made my way through the winding halls, jumping a little when the wind picked up, creating an echoing howl as the chilled air coursed over the building. I shivered, feeling an uncomfortable cold fill the drafty passages. They need to get some heat in here.

I pushed open the medical bay doors. "Do you happen to have any cigarettes me-" I stopped short. Scout sat in medic's chair, doodling on an important-looking document with a red pen. "Where's the doctor?"

Scout gave me a flat glare. "He's sleeping, don't bother him."

"What are you, his secretary?"

"Shut up!" he snapped, and turned back to doodling. Kids these days.

It's a bit late to be sleeping, or so it seems to me.

"I just want to ask if you've got some cigarettes."

"Dude," Scout said, turning to me. "Doc hates it when people smoke near him. He won't let you get within like fifteen feet of us if you light up."

"Who is 'us'? You're his secretary. I knew it."

"Shut your mouth hole. Check the old spy's room."

"I did, and there aren't any," I grumbled.

"Why would you even put that shit in your mouth anyway?" Scout shoved the paper aside. I got a quick glance at what he was doodling on.

_Injury and Incident Report – Quarter 4_

"I'm sorry, but, should you be drawing on that?"

"Doc won't mind."

"I vould," I soft voice said. "But I'm smart enough to make copies."

Medic strode out, hair mussed and lacking glasses. His eyes were unfocused, and he seemed to be a little unsteady. "I must look terrible. Excuse me a second." He went over to his medigun, neatly bundled up by his desk. He turned it on, and took a huge breath, sucking in bright blue fumes. He straightened, eyes clear and face more set. "I'm afraid I do not have cigarettes. I can help you quit, zhough."

"Yeah…no thanks."

"Zhere aren't actually any cigarettes on site at zhe moment, so you'll be razher deprived for a bit. I have a few nicotine patches, however, if your condition is severe."

"Since when is smoking a condition?" I asked, irritated.

"Since he said so!" Scout exclaimed.

Medic walked over to me, and handed me…a cigarette.

"Is everyone here a habitual liar?"

"Zhat is not exactly zhe cigarette you are used to. Just stick it in your mouzh. It vill satisfy zhe nicotine craving for now."

I stuck it in my mouth and gnawed on the thing for a moment. A bittersweet taste oozed into my mouth, and I gagged. "What the heck is this?"

"Zhat is liquid nicotine, partially diluted. Let a little of it sink in. It also has a few neuro-pathogens."

"What?"

"It may make you throw up. I'm sure it vill be fine, zhough."

"How is that fine?" I spat it into the trash can.

"Hey now-zhat took a vhile to make. I vas going to give it to zhe last spy."

Medic sighed, and then shrugged. "You realize zhat it vill kill you eventually, along vizh everyvone around you."

"You are rather annoying, you know?"

"Like you?"


	8. Chapter 8: Meet the Person

AN: Real life interfered with writing. Darned real life.

I didn't get my cigarette, much to my annoyance. I did, however, get a bottle of cherry smelling syrup.

"Zhat vill help you build up muscle mass. You are still not back to normal, and I also took a blood test during zhe earlier procedure. You are somevhat anemic. Do _not_ overexert yourself."

I went to the kitchen, looking for a spoon. I hoped this wasn't poison.

I met Engineer in the kitchen. He was poring over a diagram on dark blue paper. I peeked over his shoulder.

A metal box with a screen was drawn on it. Messy white notations were scrawled along the sides.

"What's this?"

"A dispenser. Basically a mini-factory. Feed it metal, and it churns up bullets and what-not. It also has a built-in healing mechanism. I'll show it to you later," he murmured. "You find your smoke?"

"No. Are you sure there aren't any lying around?"

"More sure than your grandmother's knitting circle."

"Does that actually mean anything?"

"No, but the folks at home think it does." Engineer leaned back and stretched his stiff arms. His eyes, shielded by dark goggles, darted to me. "You think you could be a merc?"

"I've said this several times. I'm not joining you people," I threw back. "I'm not ungrateful, but I can't just join some shady company's mercenary gang."

"Well, we keep pressing it for a good reason. Our employers would just as easily want us to put lead through you as save you. Forget that for now. We're still waiting on instructions. Let's have you meet the others. Who've you seen so far?"

"Scout, Heavy, Medic, and Sniper," I listed off. "That makes four more, yes?"

"You catch on quick. Come with me."

Engineer rolled up his papers and shoved them in his side pocket. He led me through the darkened hallways yet again.

"Is it normally this quiet?" In the suffocating silence of the halls, my voice seemed like a thunderclap in a church.

"Everyone's getting some sleep in, since there's no combat today. They might each have a screw loose, but they do their job and they give their all."

He stepped right past the room that said "SOLDIER" on it in block letters. It was the only door from which noise emanated. I heard a low, guttural chant come from within.

"Is…is there something going on in there?" I asked nervously as we passed.

"Soldier's just practicing the pledge of allegiance. Backwards. He says a true American knows how to say everything backwards."

"I see. I think I don't want to meet him."

Engineer stopped in front of a door that had the image of a flame engraved into the wood. "Yep. Here's pyro. Don't let him scare you."

"How is he-MON DIEU!"

The door swung open to reveal a hideous face. A large, round face with sagging skin glared out at me. Bulging yellow eyes framed by sunken flesh sat around a large, grossly disproportionate nose. Yellowed teeth grinned out at me from between drying, withering lips.

"Pyro, I said to put your Halloween stuff away!" Engineer snapped. He tugged the monster's face off!

Yes, it was a mask, but I assure you it looked very real. This particular incident does not in anyway reflect upon my mental state.

Underneath, the man (or perhaps woman) was wearing a dark gas mask that obscured his entire head. His average frame was dressed in white silk pajamas. His hands were pale at the tips, tanned along the rest of the appendage. The mask covered his neck and much of his collarbone region. A quick look told me he was probably male, or else it was a very flat-chested female with a rectangular body.

I'm going to roll with male.

_"Mrrmph nuuur?"_

I blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Morning, pyro," Engineer said cheerfully. "Sleep well?"

_"Mrhmm. Yur?"_

"Fine, thanks boy. Anyway, meet our possible new spy. Remember that plane from yesterday? The one that barreled right over the cliff? This guy survived."

The man(?) snorted. His gas mask turned the sound into a rattling wheeze. _"Mnmm. Hrn dnnm."_

"I'm mighty serious, smoky. He barely survived. Doc and Heavy went out to search for survivors, remember? Actually, I think Doc went looking for corpses. Nobody should have survived that. He had scalpels and everything."

That was discomforting. If he'd thought I was dead he'd have sliced me up and used my organs for…whatever he did with organs. I was reminded of the Frankenstein film my father showed me a long time ago.

Another question rose to mind, less serious, but I believe rather important. How the heck did Engineer understand all of Pyro's words?

_"Nuu. Lnns, eh tmm ymm."_

"Didn't you see doc bring him in? You're usually up late anyway."

_"Nuu. Slphng," _Pyro responded in what I can only imaged was an irritated voice.

"Right. Anyway, welcome him."

Pyro stepped forward and abruptly hugged me. He gave me a quick pat on the back and stepped back, chuckling. He seemed to find me funny for some reason. I idly wondered if there was something on my face.

"I think you can guess his job. He sets things on fire. And laughs. He's insane, too," Engineer said, grinning.

"_Nu-uh," _Pyro mumbled. _"Yhrr inshhn."_

"Let's go meet Demo. Come back when you've got some decent clothes on, Pyro."

Pyro gave Engineer a friendly punch and retreated into his room, which was dark and impossible to see into.

"You should see our regular quarters. We've each decked up our room to suit us back at home. Pyro's got all these balloons around his door. It's nuts," Engineer said, walking with increased vigor now.

"Is this the door?" We'd stopped in front of a blank door, albeit one with blast marks on the bottom half.

"Yeah, but don't-"

A bit too late, my brain processed the Engineer was telling me not to open the door.

An explosion deafened me and simultaneously forced me against the far wall. My head cracked against the steel surface of the floor, and I heard someone cursing, as though from very far away. Everything faded out of view, and I felt the phantom sensation of my limbs freezing up…ice creeping into my lungs. Then, I knew no more.


	9. Chapter 9: Baglady

_Cold!_

I can't feel my body.

Am I dead?

Is it finally over?

_Snow. Ice in my lungs, in my throat, freezing my stomach, chilling my chest._

I'm dead, aren't I?

I remember something. It's too hard to remember. In fact, thinking is too hard.

_My heart slows, and then I know, that's the end._

I feel warmth, but at the same time I feel so cold it burns.

_My heart stops, and my mind knows that it's over. Then I feel a thump. It's so strong it jars my chest cavity, shakes my body and makes me shudder. My brain cannot join flesh and thoughts. I should be dead. Why do I feel my muscles pulse, my blood force its way through rapidly freezing vessels? Muscles that have ceased to function lie dead, pressing down onto my being._

There's a voice talking to me from somewhere. I can't make it out just yet.

_ Another thump. My brain starts from its deathbed, and my stilled lungs once again contract. Air races in. It is flecked with shards of ice and snow, but it is oxygen, and my brain arcs into awareness, but only briefly._

"…is fine. I suspect he is actually avake, but ve vill see how long it takes his brain to fully come around."

_How long have I lain here, feeling snow pile atop me? Somewhere, a faint warmth has begun to fade. A thought crawls out of bed and mutters to me, "The airplane was burning, warming you." Now that fire is dead, and soon, even this miracle of life will be taken from me. Is it a miracle, though?_

_ When I was fourteen, I met a homeless lady, easily in her sixties. Waiting for the bus was always an ordeal, and today, snow was falling. It never snowed in my hometown, but the cold flecks were real enough._

_ The homeless old crone was always there, chatting amiably with passerby. She was a doctor a long time ago, and got by helping sick individuals who would let her sleep in their homes or have a bite to eat. Regardless, even when offered the opportunity for comfort, she seemed to enjoy wandering the town and sitting by the bus stop outside my home. Perhaps she felt a freedom in it us average people did not. After all, all we thought was, "Why would anyone choose to be homeless?"_

_ That day, I was certain I'd freeze. A thin short-sleeved shirt and jeans were nowhere near enough to keep me warm. Then that old lady approached me, her eyes seeming to twinkle as they reflected the light from a passing car._

_ "Hello."_

_ "H-Hey," I chattered back. The lady was wrapped in a warm woolen coat she'd gotten from Mrs. Dubose, my neighbor, when she helped Dubose recover from pneumonia. Folks said this homeless lady (whose name nobody knew) was better than the local doctor. She treated people for free, and all her patients seemed to heal faster without any drugs or pills. The local doctor, Stanley Ger, did not like her. He tried to sue her for malpractice, but was laughed out of court. Ger later left and started a pickle farm, but that's another story._

_ "Didn't you see the snow when you woke up this morning?" she asked. It was now four in the afternoon._

_ "I-It was warm when I woke up. The snow came on so fast," I said breathlessly._

_ The old lady handed me a small white blanket made of wool. I gratefully wrapped it around my shoulders._

_ Silent, we stood side by side for a minute, the blanket warming me up tremendously. She even put a small cap on my head and gave me some red mittens. She seemed to be drawing all these things from the folds of her massive coat._

_ After a while, she said, "The bus won't come."_

_ "It-It might just be delayed by the snow," I said. We weren't outside my home, or I'd have fled inside. I was outside the library, now closed, and the friendly old lady was outside reading a bible the local pastor had given her. She never went to church, but seemed to enjoy reading religious works._

_ "No," she murmured, her eyes distant. "It just skidded off the road. Nobody was hurt. No buses for the rest of today, though."_

_ "How-how do you know that?"_

_ She grinned, showing perfect white teeth. Ms. Taylor, the dentist, gave her cleanups for free, because she'd once saved Ms. Taylor's son from a disease nobody could figure out. Fever, shivering, coma, and vomiting._

_ Everyone said the old lady was a witch. Most said it fondly; a few said it with less than pure meanings._

_ "I think you'd best walk home. Nobody's driving around with all this snow."_

_ "I live four miles away," I said dubiously._

_ She shuffled forward, and tapped my chest, just over my heart with a wrinkled finger. "Go on."_

_ And I went._

_ My mother nearly fainted when she learned I'd legged it home, four miles in this strange snow. She called doctor Ger, but only because the homeless lady wasn't around. Whenever the homeless lady was near, you invited her in to treat your illnesses and gave her food or a shower, whatever it is she seemed to need. That was the unspoken rule._

_ Ger arrived, a little smug at actually being called for once. He was an unpleasant man in his thirties, who drank too much to be called a good doctor and had almost lost his medical license a year ago when he accidentally broke a child's foot while resetting a bone. How do you even pull that off?_

_ There was nothing wrong with me. Ger left without a word, and I spent everyday afterwards chatting with the homeless lady when I saw her. I should have had a cold, a flu, frostbite-something. Not a thing._

_ She disappeared when I was seventeen. Everyone was horrified. The local sheriff, Mr. Jeremiah brought out dogs to look for her. Zackary Jeremiah had a large name and a large heart. When it rained, he let our local homeless lady rest in his little house at the edge of town._

_ But we never saw her again._

_ Two months later, a promising medical school graduate named Burton showed up and did well, all things considered. He never understood why everyone looked at him, sighed, and shook their heads. Poor fellow._

"Doc, he's talking in Spanish, I think."

"Hush. It's French. Vhy don't you have some hot chocolate? Zhe damned heater is not vorking again."

"Thanks."

"Of course. But try not to bozher him too much. Let him rest."


End file.
